Call number 917.55 B14c (Wilson Annex, University of
North Carolina at Chapel Hill)

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Recollections of Travel in the Old
Days
ON THE
James River & Kanawha Canal.

GEORGE W. BAGBY.

RICHMOND:
WEST, JOHNSTON & CO., PUBLISHERS.
1879

Preface.
MY first thought was to
print these reminiscences
in a newspaper. But our papers are unable to pay
for contributions. It was not so in the former days.
Well do I remember when the Dispatch cheerfully
gave me its dollars, not merely for stories and
sketches, but for trifles like the "Weekly Rekord
uv amewsments," which I then kept, and which
seemed to please our good people of Richmond, who
were then doing so well in business that they were
easily pleased. And truly in those times they were
a liberal, open-hearted set. So would they be now
were they able.

Will we ever see good times and plenty of money
again? I think so. And yet often I get very blue,
apprehending still greater business troubles,

culminating in I know not what of civil disaster. It is
touching to me, going around, as I have had to do a
great deal of late, among our business men, to see
their sad faces, and yet their evident anxiety in the
midst of worries and cares, to help one who is even
worse off than themselves. We have good stock
here - men who would honor any city in the land,
and who make up a community in which it is a
pleasure to live. Here and there you find one, two,
or three close-fisted fellows, who dodge you for fear
you will ask them for something. That is to their
credit, for it shows that they have feeling and a sense
of shame. And again you meet positive brutes, who
are not merely stingy and mean, but ill-mannered
and under-bred to boot. But these serve as foils to
set off their better brethren to more advantage; and
I, for one, am not the man to abuse stingy people.
They have one magnificent trait to counterpoise
their littleness - they pay their debts, and pay them
promptly. So, take it all in all, Richmond is about

as good a place to live in as a man will find on this
globe, as I have learned by playing book-canvasser,
- an excellent school for the study of men.

But shall we see better times? Why, yes, surely.
They have begun already in Troy, N. Y., the papers
say. And I verily believe the railway, which is to
take the place of the canal, will do more than all
things else to bring back work for all and money
for all of us in our fair city of Richmond. Let us
at least hope so. And with that hope in view, I
trust that these reminiscences of an obsolescent mode
of travel - which may have been delightful, but
certainly was not rapid - will give a few moments of
pleasure to the friends of the publishers and of the
writer.

Canal Reminiscences.

AMONG my earliest
recollections is a trip from
Cumberland County to Lynchburg, in 1835, or
thereabouts. As the stage approached Glover's
tavern in Appomattox county, sounds as of a
cannonade aroused my childish curiosity to a high
pitch. I had been reading Parley's History of
America, and this must be the noise of actual
battle. Yes; the war against the hateful Britishers
must have broken out again. Would the stage carry
us within range of the cannon balls? Yes, and
presently the red-coats would come swarming out
of the woods. And - and - Gen. Washington was
dead; I was certain of that; what would become
of us? I was terribly excited, but afraid to
ask questions. Perhaps I was scared.

Would they kill an unarmed boy, sitting peacably
in a stage coach? Of course they would; Britishers
will do anything! Then they will have to shoot
couple of men first; - and I squeezed still closer
between them.

My relief and my
disappointment were equally great,
when a casual remark unfolded the fact that the
noise which so excited me was only the "blasting of
rock on the Jeems and Kanawha Canell." What was
"blasting of rock?"

What was a
"canell?" and, above all, what manner
of thing was a "Jeems and Kanawha Canell?"
Was it alive?

I think it was; more alive than it has ever been
since, except for the first few years after it was opened.

Those were the "good old days" of batteaux, -
picturesque craft that charmed my young eyes more
than all the gondolas of Venice would do now. True,
they consumed a week in getting from Lynchburg to
Richmond, and ten days in returning against the

stream, but what of that? Time was abundant in those
days. It was made for slaves, and we had the slaves.
A batteau on the water was more than a match for the
best four or six horse bell-team that ever rolled over
the red clay of Bedford, brindle dog and tar-bucket
included.

Fleets of these batteaux used to be moored on the
river bank near where the depot of the Virginia and
Tennessee Railroad now stands; and many years after
the "Jeems and Kanawha" was finished, one of them
used to haunt the mouth of Blackwater creek above
the toll-bridge, a relic of departed glory. For if
ever man gloried in his calling, - the negro batteau-man
was that man. His was a hardy calling, demanding
skill, courage and strength in a high degree.
I can see him now striding the plank that ran along
the gunwale to afford him footing, his long iron-shod
pole trailing in the water behind him. Now he turns,
and after one or two ineffectual efforts to get his pole
fixed in the rocky bottom of the river, secures his

purchase, adjusts the upper part of the pole to the
pad at his shoulder, bends to his task, and the
long, but not ungraceful bark mounts the rapids
like a sea-bird breasting the storm. His companion
on the other side plies the pole with equal ardor,
and between the two the boat bravely surmounts every
obstacle, be it rocks, rapids, quicksands, hammocks,
what not. A third negro at the stern held the
mighty oar that served as a rudder. A stalwart,
jolly, courageous set they were, plying the pole all
day, hauling in to shore at night under the friendly
shade of a mighty sycamore, to rest, to eat, to play
the banjo, and to snatch a few hours of profound,
blissful sleep.

The up-cargo, consisting of sacks of salt, bags of
coffee, barrels of sugar, molasses and whiskey,
afforded good pickings. These sturdy fellows lived
well, I promise you, and if they stole a little,
why, what was their petty thieving compared to the
enormous pillage of the modern sugar refiner and the

crooked-whiskey distiller? They lived well. Their
cook's galley was a little dirt thrown between the
ribs of the boat at the stern, with an awning on
occasion to keep off the rain, and what they didn't
eat wasn't worth eating. Fish of the very best, both
salt and fresh, chickens, eggs, mill: and the invincible,
never-satisfying ash-cake and fried bacon. I see
the frying-pan, I smell the meat, the fish, the Rio
coffee! - I want the batteau
back again, aye! and
the brave, light-hearted slave to boot. What did
he know about the State debt? There was no State
debt to speak of. Greenbacks? Bless, you! the
Farmers Bank of Virginia was living and breathing,
and its money was good enough for a king.
Re-adjustment, funding bill, tax-receivable coupons -
where were all these worries then? I think if we
had known they were coming, we would have stuck
to the batteaux and never dammed the river. Why,
shad used to run to Lynchburg! The world was
merry, butter-milk was abundant; Lynchburg a lad,

Richmond a mere youth, and the great "Jeems and
Kanawha canell" was going to - oh! it was going to
do everything.

This was forty years ago and more, mark you.

In 1838, I made my first trip to Richmond. What
visions of grandeur filled my youthful imagination!
That eventually I should get to be a man seemed
probable, but that I should ever be big enough to
live, actually live, in the vast metropolis, was
beyond my dreams. For I believed fully that men
were proportioned to the size of the cities they
lived in. I had seen a man named Hatcher from
Cartersville, who was near about the size of the
average man in Lynchburg, but as I had never seen
Cartersville, I concluded, naturally enough, that
Cartersville must be equal in population. Which may
be the fact, for I have never yet seen Cartersville,
though I have been to Warminster, and once came near
passing through Bent-Creek.

It took two days to make the trip, yet no one
complained, although there were many Methodist
ministers aboard. Bro. Lafferty had not been born. I
thought it simply glorious. There was an unnatural
preponderance of preacher to boy, - nine of preacher
to one of boy. That boy did not take a leading part
in the conversation. He looked out of the window,
and thought much about Richmond And what a wonderful
world it was! So many trees, such nice rocks, and
pretty ruts in the red clay; such glorious taverns,
and men with red noses; such splendid horses, a
fresh team every ten miles, and an elegant smell
of leather, proceeding from the coach, prevailing
everywhere as we bowled merrily along. And then the
stage horn. Let me not speak of it, lest Thomas and
his orchestra hang their heads for very shame. I
wish somebody would tell me where we stopped the
first night, for I have quite forgotten. Any how,
it was on the left-hand side coming down,

and I rather think on the brow of a little hill. I
know we got up mighty soon the next morning.

We drew up at the Eagle hotel in Richmond. Here
again words, and time too, fail me. All the cities
on earth packed into one wouldn't look as big and
fine to me now as Main street did then. If things
shrink so in the brief space of a life-time, what
would be the general appearance, say of Petersburg,
if one should live a million or so of years? This
is an interesting question, which you may discuss
with yourself, dear reader.

Going northward, I remained a year or two, and on my
return the "canell" was finished. I had seen bigger places
than Richmond, but had yet to have my first experience of
canal travelling. The packet-landing at the foot of Eighth
street presented a scene of great activity. Passengers on
foot and in vehicles continued to arrive up to the moment
of starting. I took a peep at the cabin, wondering much
how all the passengers were to be accommodated for the

night, saw how nicely the baggage was stored away on
deck, admired the smart waiters, and picked up a deal of
information generally. I became acquainted with the names
of Edmond & Davenport in Richmond, and Boyd, Edmond
& Davenport in Lynchburg, the owners of the packet-line,
and thought to myself, "What immensely rich men they
must be! Why, these boats cost ten times as much as a
stage-coach, and I am told they have them by the dozen."

At last we were off, slowly pushed along under the
bridge on Seventh street; then the horses were hitched;
then slowly along till we passed the crowd of boats near
the city, until at length, with a lively jerk as the horses
fell into a trot, away we went, the cut-water throwing up
the spray as we rounded the Penitentiary hill, and the
passengers lingering on deck to get a last look at the fair
city of Richmond, lighted by the pale rays of the setting
sun.

As the shadows deepened, everybody went below.
There was always a crowd in those days, but it was a

crowd for the most part of our best people, and no
one minded it. I was little, and it took little room
to accommodate me. Everything seemed as cozy and
comfortable as heart could wish. I brought to the
table, - an excellent one it was, - a school boy's
appetite, sharpened by travel, and thought it was
"just splendid."

Supper over, the men went on deck to smoke while the
ladies busied themselves with draughts or backgammon,
with conversation or with books. But not for long. The
curtains which separated the female from the male
department were soon drawn, in order that the steward
and his aids might make ready the berths. These were
three deep, "lower," "middle" and "upper;" and great
was the desire on the part of the men not to be
consigned to the "upper." Being light as a cork, I rose
naturally to the top, clambering thither by the leathern
straps with the agility of a monkey, and enjoying as best
I might the trampling overhead whenever we approached

a lock. I didn't mind this much, but when the fellow who
had snubbed the boat jumped down about four feet, right
on my head as it were, it was pretty severe. Still I slept
the sleep of youth. We all went to bed early. A few lingered,
talking in low tones; and way-passengers, in case there
was a crowd, were dumped upon mattresses, placed on the
dining tables.

The lamp shed a dim light over the sleepers, and all
went well till some one - and there always was some
one - began to snore. Sn-a-a aw! - aw-aw-poof! They
would turn uneasily and try to compose themselves to
slumber again. No use. Sn-a-a-aw - poof! "D- that
fellow! Chunk him in the ribs, somebody, and make him
turn over. Is this thing to go on forever? Gentlemen,
are you going to stand this all night? If you are, I
am not. I, am going to get up and dress. Who is he
anyhow? No gentleman would or could snore in that way."

would drop off to sleep again, except the little fellow
in the upper berth, who lying there would listen to the
trahn-ahn-ahn-ahn of the packet-horn as we drew nigh the
locks. How mournfully it sounded in the night! what a doleful
thing it is at best, and how different from the stage-horn
with its cheery, ringing notes! The difference in the horns
marks the difference in the two eras of travel; not that the
canal period is doleful - I would not say that, but it is
less bright than the period of the stage-coach.

To this day you have only to say within my hearing
trahn-ahn-ahn, to bring back the canal epoch. I can see
the whole thing down to the snubbing post with its deep
grooves which the heavy rope had worn. Indeed, I think I
could snub a boat myself with very little practice, if the
man on deck would say "hup!" to the horses at the proper
time.

We turned out early in the morning, and had precious
little room for dressing. But that was no hardship
to me, who had just emerged from a big boarding

school dormitory. Still, I must say, being now a grown
and oldish man, that I would not like to live and sleep
and dress for twenty or thirty years in the cabin of a
canal-packet. The ceremony of ablution was performed in a
primitive fashion. There were the tin basins, the big
tin dipper with the long wooden handle. I feel it vibrating
in the water now, and the water a little muddy generally;
and there were the towels, a big one on a roller, and the
little ones in a pile, and all of them wet. These were
discomforts, it is true, but, pshaw! one good, big, long,
deep draught of pure, fresh morning air - one glimpse of
the roseate flush above the wooded hills of the James, one
look at the dew besprent bushes and vines along the canal
bank - one sweet caress of dear mother nature in her morning
robes, made ample compensation for them all. Breakfast was
soon served, and all the more enjoyed in consequence of an
hour's fasting on deck; the sun came out in all his splendor;
the day was fairly set in, and with it there was abundant

leisure to enjoy the scenery, that grew more and more
captivating as we rose, lock after lock, into the rock-
bound eminences of the upper James. This scenery I will
not attempt to describe, for time has sadly dimmed it in my
recollection. The wealth of the lowlands, and the upland
beauty must be seen a I have seen them, in the day of
their prime, to be enjoyed.

The perfect cultivation, the abundance, the elegance the
ducal splendor, one might almost say, of the great estates
that lay along the canal in the old days have passed away
in a great measure. Here were gentlemen, not merely refined
and educated, fitted to display a royal hospitality and to
devote their leisure to the study of the art and practice
of government, but they were great and greatly successful
farmers as well. The land teemed with all manner of
products, cereals, fruits, what not! negroes by the
hundreds and the thousands, under wise direction, gentle
but firm control, plied the hoe to good purpose.

There was enough and to spare for all - to spare? aye! to
bestow with glad and lavish hospitality. A mighty change
has been wrought. What that change is in all of its effects
mine eyes have happily been spared the seeing; but well I
remember - I can never forget - how from time to time the
boat would stop at one of these estates, and the planter,
his wife, his daughters, and the guests that were going
home with him, would be met by those who had remained
behind, and how joyous the greetings were! It was a bright
and happy scene, and it continually repeated itself as we
went onward.

In fine summer weather, the passengers, male and female,
stayed most of the time on deck, where there was a great
deal to interest, and naught to mar the happiness, except
the oft-repeated warning, "braidge!" "low braidge!"
No well-regulated packet-hand was ever allowed to say
plain "bridge;" that was an etymological crime in canal
ethics. For the men, this on-deck existence was especially

delightful; it is such a comfort to spit plump into the
water without the trouble of feeling around with your
head, in the midst of a political discussion, for the
spittoon.

As for me, I often went below, to devour Dickens's
earlier novels, which were then appearing in rapid
succession. But, drawn by the charm of the scenery, I
would often drop my book and go back on deck again.
There was an islet in the river - where, exactly, I
cannot tell - which had a beauty of its own for me,
because from the moment I first saw it, my purpose
was to make it the scene of a romance, when I got
to be a great big man, old enough to write for the
papers. There is a point at which the passengers
would get off, and taking a near cut across the
hills, would stretch their legs with a mile or two
of walking. It was unmanly, I held, to miss that.
Apropos of scenery, I must not forget the haunted
house near Manchester, which was pointed out soon
after we left Richmond, and filled me with awe; for

though I said I did not believe in ghosts, I did. The
ruined mill, a mile or two further, on was always an
object of melancholy interest to me; and of all the
locks from Lynchburg down, the Three-Mile Locks
pleased me most. It is a pretty place, as every one
will own on seeing it. It was so clean and green,
and white and thrifty-looking. To me it was simply
beautiful. I wanted to live there; I ought to have
lived there. I was built for a lock-keeper - have
that exact moral and mental shape. Ah! to own your
own negro, who would do all the drudgery of opening
the gates. Occasionally you would go through the
form of putting your shoulder to the huge wooden
levers, if that is what they call them, by which
the gates are opened: to own your own negro and
live and die calmly at a lock! What more could
the soul ask! I do think that the finest picture
extant of peace and contentment - a little abnormal,
perhaps, in the position of the animal - is that of
a sick mule looking out of the window of a

canal freight-boat. And that you could see every day
from the porch of your cottage, if you lived at a
lock, owned your own negro, and there was no great rush
of business on the canal, (and there seldom was) on
the "Jeems and Kanawhy," as old Capt. Sam Wyatt
always called it, leaving out the word "canal," for that
was understood. Yes, one ought to live as a pure and
resigned lock-keeper, if one would be blest, really
blest.

Now that I am on the back track, let me add that,
however bold and picturesque the cliffs and bluffs
near Lynchburg and beyond, there was nothing from
one end the canal to the other to compare with the
first sight of Richmond, when, rounding a corner not
far from Hollywood, it burst full upon the vision, its
capitol, its spires, its happy homes, flushed with the
red glow of evening. And what it looked to be, it
was. Its interior, far from belieing its exterior,
surpassed it. The world over, there is no lovelier
site for a city; and the world over there was no city

that quite equalled it in the charm of its hospitality,
its refinement, its intelligence, its cordial welcome to
strangers. Few of its inhabitants were very rich,
fewer still were very poor. But I must not dwell on
this. Beautiful city! beautiful city! you may grow to
be as populous as London, and sure no one wishes you
greater prosperity than I, but grow as you may, you
can never be happier than you were in the days
whereof I speak. How your picture comes back to
me, softened by time, glorified by all the tender, glowing
tints of memory. Around you now is the added
glory of history, a defence almost unrivalled in the
annals of warfare; but for me there is something
even brighter than historic fame, a hue derived only
from the heaven of memory. In my childhood, when
all things were beautified by the unclouded light of
"the young soul wandering here in nature," I saw
you in your youth, full of hope, full of promise,
full of all those gracious influences which made your
State greatest among all her sisters, and which seemed

concentrated in yourself. Be your maturity what it
may, it can never be brighter than this.

To return to the boat. All the scenery in the
world - rocks that Salvator would love to paint, and
skies that Claude could never limn - all the facilities
for spitting that earth affords, avail not to keep a
Virginian away from a julep on a hot summer day.
From time to time he would descend from the deck
of the packet and refresh himself. The bar was
small, but vigorous and healthy. I was then in the
lemonade stage of boyhood, and it was not until
many years afterwards that I rose through porterees
and claret-punches to the sublimity of the sherry
cobbler, and discovered that the packet bar supplied
genuine Havana cigars at fourpence-ha'penny.
Why, eggs were but sixpence a dozen on the canal
bank, and the national debt wouldn't have filled a
tea-cup. Internal revenue was unknown; the coupons
receivable for taxes inconceivable, and forcible
readjustment a thing undreamt of in Virginian
philosophy.

Mr. Mallocks's pregnant question, "Is
life worth living?" was answered very satisfactorily,
me-thought, as I watched the Virginians at their juleps:
"Gentlemen, your very good health;" "Colonel, my
respects to you;" "My regards, Judge. When shall I see
you again at my house? Can't you stop now and stay a
little while, if it is only a week or two?" "Sam," (to
the bar-keeper,) "duplicate these drinks."

How they smacked their lips; how hot the talk on
politics became; and how pernicious this example of
drinking in public was to the boy who looked on! Oh!
yes; and if you expect your son to go through life without
bad examples set him by his elders in a thousand ways,
you must take him to another sphere. Still, the fewer bad
examples the better, and you, at least, need not set them.

Travelling always with my father, who was a merchant,
it was natural that I should become acquainted
with merchants. But I remember very few of them.

Mr. Daniel H. London, who was a character, and
Mr. Fleming James, who often visited his estate in
Roanoke, and was more of a character than London,
I recall quite vividly. I remember, too, Mr. Francis
B. Deane, who was always talking about Mobjack Bay,
and who was yet to build the Langhorne Foundry
in Lynchburg. I thought if I could just see
Mobjack Bay, I would be happy. According to Mr.
Deane, and I agreed with him, there ought by this
time to have been a great city on Mobjack Bay.
I saw Mobjack Bay last summer, and was happy.
Any man who goes to Gloucester will be happy.
More marked than all of these characters was
Major Yancey, of Buckingham, "the wheel-horse of
Democracy," he was called; Tim. Rives, of Prince
George, whose face, some said, resembled the inside
of a gunlock, being the war-horse. Major Y.'s stout
figure, florid face, and animated, forcible manner,
come back with some distinctness; and there are
other forms, but they are merely outlines barely

discernible. So pass away men who, in their day, were
names and powers - shadows gone into shadow-land,
leaving but a dim print upon a few brains, which in time
will soon flit away.

Arrived in Lynchburg, the effect of the canal was soon
seen in the array of freight boats, the activity and
bustle at the packet landing. New names and new faces,
from the canal region of New York, most likely, were seen
and heard. I became acquainted with the family of Capt.
Huntley, who commanded one of the boats, and was for some
years quite intimate with his pretty daughters, Lizzie,
Harriet and Emma. Capt. H. lived on Church street, next
door to the Reformed, or as it was then called, the Radical
Methodist Church, and nearly opposite to Mr. Peleg Seabury.
He was for a time connected in some way with the Exchange
hotel, but removed with his family to Cincinnati, since
when I have never but once heard of them. Where are they
all, I wonder? Then, there was a Mr. Watson, who

lived with Boyd, Edmond & Davenport, married first
a Miss -, and afterwards, Mrs. Christian, went into
the tobacco business in Brooklyn, then disappeared,
leaving no trace, not the slightest. Then there was a
rare fellow, Charles Buckley, who lived in the same
store with Watson, had a fine voice, and without a
particle of religion in the ordinary sense, loved dearly
to sing at revivals. I went with him; we took back
seats, and sang with great fervor. This was at night.
Besides Captain Huntley, I remember among the
captains of a later date, Captain Jack Yeatman; and
at a date still later his brother, Captain C. E.
Yeatman, both of whom are still living. There was still
another captain whose name was Love- something, a
very handsome man; and these are all.

In 1849, having graduated in Philadelphia, I made
one of my last through-trips on the canal, the happy
owner of a diploma in a green tin case, and the
utterly miserable possessor of a dyspepsia which

threatened my life. I enjoyed the night on deck,
sick as I was. The owl's "long hoot," the "plaintive
cry of the whippoorwill;" the melody - for it is by
association a melody, which the Greeks have but
travestied with their brek-ke-ex, ko-ex - of the frogs,
the mingled hum of insect life, the "stilly sound" of
inanimate nature, the soft respiration of sleeping earth,
and above all, the ineffable glory of the stars. Oh!
heaven of heavens, into which the sick boy, lying
alone on deck, then looked, has thy charm fled, too,
with so many other charms? Have thirty years of
suffering, of thought, of book-reading, brougth only
the unconsoling knowledge, that yonder twinkling
sparks of far-off fire are not lamps that light the
portals of the palace of the King and Father, but
suns like our sun, surrounded by earths full of woe
and doubt like our own; and that heaven, if heaven
there be, is not in the sky; not in space, vast as it
is; not in time, endless though it be - where then?
"Near thee, in thy heart!" Who feels this, who

will say this of himself? Away thou gray-haired,
sunken-checked sceptic, away! Come back to me,
come back to me, wan youth; there on that deck,
with the treasure of thy faith, thy trust in men,
thy worship of womankind, thy hope, that sickness
could not chill, in the sweet possibilities of life.
Come back to me! - 'Tis a vain cry. The youth lies
there on the packet's deck, looking upward to the
stars, and he will not return.

The trip in 1849 was a dreary one until there came
aboard a dear lady friend of mine who had recently
been married. I had not had a good honest talk with
a girl for eighteen solid - I think I had better say
long, (we always say long when speaking of the war)
"fo' long years!" - I have heard it a thousand times
- for eighteen long months, and you may imagine
how I enjoyed the conversation with my friend. She
wasn't very pretty, and her husband was a Louisa
man; but her talk, full of good heart and good sense,
put new life into me. One other through trip, the

very last, I made in 1851. On my return in 1853, I
went by rail as far as Farmville, and thence by stage
to Lynchburg; so that, for purposes of through travel,
the canal lasted, one may say, only ten or a dozen
years. And now the canal, after a fair and costly trial,
is to give place to the rail, and I, in common with the
great body of Virginians, am heartily glad of it. It has
served its purpose well enough, perhaps, for its day
and generation. The world has passed by it, as it has
passed by slavery. Henceforth Virginia must prove
her metal in the front of steam, electricity, and
possibly mightier forces still. If she can't hold her
own in their presence, she must go under. I believe she
will hold her own; these very forces will help her. The
dream of the great canal to the Ohio, with its-nine
mile tunnel, costing fifty or more millions, furnished
by the general government, and revolutionizing the
commerce of the United States, much as the discovery of
America and opening of the Suez canal revolutionized the

One cannot withhold admiration from President
Johnston and other officers of the canal, who made
such a manful struggle to save it. But who can war
against the elements? Nature herself; imitating man,
seems to have taken special delight in kicking the canal
after it was down. So it must go. Well, let it go. It
knew Virginia in her palmiest days and it crushed the
stage coach; isn't that glory enough? I think it is. But
I can't help feeling sorry for the bull frogs; there
must be a good many of them between here and Lexington.
What will become of them, I wonder? They will follow
their predecessors, the batteaux; and their pale, green
ghosts, seated on the prows of shadowy barges, will
be heard piping the roundelays of long-departed joys.

Farewell canal, frogs, musk-rats, mules, packet-horns
and all, a long farewell. Welcome the rail along
the winding valleys of the James. Wake up,

Fluvanna! Arise, old Buckingham! Exalt thyself, O
Goochland! And thou, O Powhatan, be not afraid nor
shame-faced any longer, but raise thy Ebenezer
freely, for the day of thy redemption is at hand.
Willis J. Dance shall rejoice; yea, Wm. Pope Dabney
shall be exceeding glad. And all hail our long lost
brother! come to these empty, aching, arms, dear
Lynch's Ferry!

I have always thought that the unnatural separation
between Lynchburg and Richmond was the source of
all our troubles. In some way, not entirely clear to
me, it brought on the late war, and it will bring on
another, if a reunion between the two cities does not
soon take place. Baltimore, that pretty and attractive,
but meddlesome vixen, is at the bottom of it all.
Richmond will not fear Baltimore after the rails are
laid. Her prosperity will date anew from the time of
her iron wedding with Lynchburg. We shall see her
merchants on our streets again, and see them often.
That will be a better day.

Alas! there are many we shall not see. John G. Meem,
Sam'l McCorkle, John Robin McDaniel, John Hollins,
Chas. Phelps, Jno. R. D. Payne, Jehu Williams, Ambrose
Rucker, Wilson P. Bryant, (who died the other day,) and
many, many others will not come to Richmond any more.
They are gone. And if they came, they would not meet
the men they used to meet; very few of them at least.
Jacquelin P. Taylor, John N. Gordon, Thos. R. Price,
Lewis D. Crenshaw, James Dunlop - why add to the list?
They too are gone.

But the sons of the old-time merchants of Lynchburg
will meet here the sons of the old-time merchants
of Richmond, and the meeting of the two, the mingling
of the waters-Blackwater creek with Bacon Quarter
branch - deuce take it! I have gone off on the water
line again - the admixture, I should say, of the
sills of Campbell with the spikes of Henrico, the
readjustment, so to speak, of the ties (R. R. ties)
that bind us, will more than atone for the obsolete

canal, and draw us all the closer by reason of our long
separation and estrangement. Richmond and Lynchburg
united will go onward and upward in a common career of
glory and prosperity. And is there, can there be, a
Virginian deserving the name, who would envy that glory,
or for a moment retard that prosperity? Not one, I am sure.

Allow me, now that my reminiscences are ended, allow
me, as an old stager and packet-horn reverer, one last
Parthian shot. It is this: If the James river does not
behave better hereafter than it has done of late, the
railroad will have to be suspended in mid-heaven by
means of a series of stationary balloons; travelling
then may be a little wabbly, but at all events, it won't
be wet.